


This

by ExploretheEcccentricities



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploretheEcccentricities/pseuds/ExploretheEcccentricities
Summary: This was all he needed and everything he needed was this.
Relationships: Quirin & Hector, Quirin & Varian (Disney), Quirin (Disney)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	This

**Author's Note:**

> This one means a lot to me. That's all I can say.

Hector gawked down at the tiny boy in open and undisguised bewilderment.

“Are…are you absolutely sure… that that’s your boy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quirin chuckled light-heartedly, too occupied with cooing and making faces at his adorable son to take Hector’s blunt comment seriously. He had agreed to see his old friend in the forest clearing, on the very outskirts of Old Corona. He had not agreed to actually giving him attention. He had learned long ago to not let Hector’s sheer inability of filtering anything that crossed that deranged noggin of his and his ever-flapping yap ruin his time.

“I mean…that’s not a boy. That’s a chipmunk. Without the cheeks.”

Despite being mildly amused, Quirin fought the familiar urge to face palm. It wouldn’t be Hector without his nonsensical ramblings for the sake of rambling.

However annoyed Quirin tried to make himself out to be, he secretly wished he could retain some of that freedom that Hector managed to cling to without difficulty: the spontaneous impulses of his teenage years and young adulthood-where the reckless riding horses against the dangerous breeze, the flippantly inventive phrases and battle of wits he could share with people he trusted, the mischievous quests into the depths of unchartered forests seeking animals he knew did not exist-reigned supreme. Hell, he even missed chasing Hector with a sword, not quite knowing what he was mad at him for anymore nor what he would do when he caught him, only knowing he would no doubt find another way to scare the living daylights out him the next morning and perpetuate their cycle of pranks.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit feeling an utterly enthralling rush of adrenaline at the mere thought of riding a stallion into the sunset instead of tending to the stable horses every morning, missing the thirst for suspense that kept his eyes glued on the horizon.

While his eyes carefully traced the practiced, routine skill of his plow, his heart yearned to wield his trusty sword just once more, swung in hand with an innate energy and caprice as his feet and spirit carried him effortlessly without restraint into a world of despicable magical warlocks and emboldened, dauntless warriors guarding an ancient artifice that held the fate of the earth.

As he hauled more crates of dull produce, he imagined with nostalgic fervor the lush flower beds and breathtakingly formidable mutant creatures in the Forest of No Return, trying to remember Adira’s frequent yet scattered monologues of the perpetual motions that kept this otherworldly realm in balance.

No. Those days had…definitely been adventures for a lifetime, but he had already lived them, and learned from them, so they were no longer meant to be. He had a different life now…more like, a different time in his new life, one where he now provided for and protected a family he adored. Speaking of which…

Trying to get his previous point across and free himself from the stricken whirlwind of nostalgia, Quirin pointedly ignored Hector and instead scooped his toddler off the ground, playfully spinning him in the air as his ears rung with those sweet squeals of angelic delight.

“Oh, would you like to fly? Yes, you would!” He cooed lightly as he laughed along, gazing proudly into those glimmering orbs of innocence, filled with joy because of him, just for him. Yes, this was where he was meant to be, hopefully for longer than his days as a knight had seemed.

“Ugh, take it down a notch, Mr. Mom. We get it, you love your kid.”

Hector made a pronounced effort to sound teasing, even impatient, but the amused affection easily poked through his words.

Quirin raised an eyebrow and smirked, bouncing Varian slightly in his one arm and putting his other hand on his hip to elicit a succession of giggles from the child. “Why should only mothers love their children?”

The question seemed to unsettle Hector greatly, as he lost his composure and discordantly stuttered for direction. “I-I didn’t say that. I was messing around. Quirin, you know me. I didn’t mean it.”

The silent sincerity and sobriety of the half-apology startled Quirin far less than the genuine, intense stare of Hector’s eyes, glistening with a sharply perceiving yet almost pleading gaze that penetrated his own, an uncharacteristic seriousness etched into his face despite his visibly much kinder aging. The light-hearted atmosphere dampened with something of greater weight hanging heavily from the hearts of both men.

Quirin was going to chalk this up to Hector never knowing his real parents (though that hadn’t ever seemed to bother him before: he had bragged about it too often, the unbearable nut).

However, the sudden realization struck him like a painful moonstone bolt, crippling waves of pity and guilt flooding his train of thought.

Hector had not moved on.

After all this time, he was still guarding that…that cursed moonstone, that bad omen that had driven their kingdom to ruin, destroyed their home, and taken innocent lives.

Meanwhile, Quirin had found love, begun a family, and solidified a reputation as a leader for a new community and kingdom.

And now, glimpsing like a stranger at this one rare exhibit of earnest solemnity of and from a brother he had known and fought alongside for years, Quirin could not help but wonder if Hector was studying him the same way, questioning what would no doubt seem to him a relatively carefree life away from the dark secrets and magics that once governed their days and now haunted their nights.

Quirin wondered if Hector wished that he had tried to move on like Quirin did, begun a new life and washed away the tainted remnants of a home they could no longer return to, a realm they were deemed incapable of defending any longer. If he, like Quirin, had atoned for his days as an unstable yet passionate man, sought penitence by directing his dutifulness into humble and modest work as a cloak that protected him from the sights and suspicions of power-hungry warlords and shape-shifting demons.

If he wished to return to a home that was not founded on the volatile ashes of fallen warlocks and brazen with the nebulous scents of ancient magic. If he, like Quirin, had ever felt the despairingly indomitable need to live as a person of the thriving world rather than a warrior of the fallen Dark Kingdom, even if it meant forgetting the nature that had been drilled into their heads since birth. To be recognized as a feeling creature with needs and limits, rather than a stoic knight able to be controlled at will.

But then the glimmer of humane sorrow and the despairing want that flooded in with it vanished as abruptly as it had surfaced. Now, Hector’s eyes lit up in a familiar flash of mischief, a spirit desperate to just momentarily forget the unreal and otherworldly fates that hung on his shoulders clawing through.

And Quirin found himself utterly relieved at this shred of familiarity he did not need to worry himself over.

Hector was compulsive and unconfined, an honorable man with the makings of a greatness Quirin had always appreciated and aspired to emulate, yet a heart Quirin had never known he had shared all along.

And as what usually happened when Quirin had an epiphany, Hector was obligated to interrupt.

“Hey Varian, would you like to fly?”

Had Hector not grabbed his oblivious son around the middle like a rag doll and lifted him haphazardly up into the sky, Quirin would have stopped to wonder how he had known Varian’s name, not remembering him or Alda telling it to Hector himself.

Instead, the worried father shouted, chasing after the madman and his exuberant toddler, who made his happiness very much known with ebullient screams of laughter. It was almost as though he was running so carefree once more-the frigid breeze whipping through his hair, generously caressing his bare arms, his feet lifting and maneuvering swiftly amongst the stray branches and hanging overgrowth as though they knew exactly where to take him.

Only this felt better.

Quirin could not help but allow the contagious happiness to escape him in an undignified bout of heaving laughter, the sounds of Hector’s growingly distant jeers and Varian’s ever vibrant cheers ringing brilliantly in his heart despite how it throbbed from the demanding run, a guide through the thick and growing darkness of the forest that told him exactly where he was headed.

Despite working in the fields, he had lost the stamina for short bursts of sustained action, and ended up calling out to them as he collapsed in the forest clearing, wheezing with a red face.

Hector approached him with a taunting smirk, carefully setting down a confused and worried Varian. The boy rushed over to him with his recently able feet, his whole form hopping with every step before he wrapped his small arms around as much of his larger father as he could. Quirin wrapped his arms around his tiny figure cautiously, feeling as nervous as he did the first time he had ever held his boy, and cradled him preciously to his chest, hand clasped over his child’s head as his fingers tangled in the messy mop of hair and pressed his lips against his forehead to whisper a few soft endearments. He felt out of sorts at the knowledge that he had let his son see him like this, yet still very much free from the upsetting nature of his earlier musings.

Pulling the boy close once more, Quirin cuddled him fiercely to his chest, only pulling apart in the slightest so he could cup his freckled cheeks to pepper gentle kisses onto his nose repeatedly.

“Let’s go to Mama, yeah?” Quirin murmured softy, helping the lad to his feet and allowing his small dimpled fingers to curl around his two larger fingers.

They began their journey home.

Hector did not respond, and for an elated moment, Quirin thought he was going to follow him home and stay forever. A long-forgotten part of him wanted beg the man himself, in need of something familiar after he felt so guilty letting go easily of something he felt so strongly for.

“Hector, you’re welcome to stay.”

It was as though they were children again, camping out in one of those hollow tree barks, and he had wanted Hector to stay-because Hector knew how to tame any feral animal, and was too brave to be eaten by any beast or bitten by any rabid creature.

And yet, as Quirin watched Hector’s face fall and eyes widen with buried layers of agony only he could understand, he wondered if his brother in arms needed him a little more. Ordinary and simple Quirin, who was anything but to a few invaluable people: Hector, Alda, Adira… and maybe, one day, even Varian.

Hector the brother, the friend, cautiously backed away, and Hector the knight, the stoic warrior, resurfaced.“I still have a duty, Quirin.” He spoke with an unfathomable tone, visibly straining to keep it neutral and non-accusatory. “You know I can’t.”

Hector kneeled on one knee so that he was head level with Varian, and Quirin caught the last glimpse of humane gentleness, a sane perceptiveness in his friend’s eyes -like a dash of coruscating light from a dying sunset- as he examined the boy intently and pulled him into a gentle hug. He then whispered something only Varian could hear, and pressed a small object that Quirin couldn’t quite make out into the base of his palm, enclosing his fingers around it and patting him encouragingly on the head with a soft smile.

Varian grinned from ear to ear and rushed up the path to his house, where his mother waited.

“It was Alda’s ring. You never did get to fish it out of the sink, you goof.”

Before Quirin could answer or read the expression on his face, Hector turned away, his cape swiveling as he resumed the confident stride he had practiced for years.

Quirin didn’t want it to end so soon. “I wish there was more I could-“

“ _This_ is all there is, Quirin.” Hector snapped icily, turning to glare at him with a fire that reminded Quirin of an earlier, darker time.

Suddenly, much to his utter bewilderment, Hector surged forward and threw his arms around him fully, his sharp forehead pressed against his shoulder.

Shakily, Quirin slowly brought himself to hug back, allowing himself to be lost in the familiar scents of bearcat and forest, the garish fur cape, the reposeful weight of an unforgotten bond that forged in the darkest moments of his life, forged him.

“Forget us, that’s fine. The child doesn’t have to know. But don’t you dare forget to take care of them, Quirin. You’ve come this far.”

For the moment, Hector’s voice cracked, and he pulled back to hold Quirin’s shocked gaze.

“Tell Alda I said hello.”

Then, like he had once before, he broke away.

As Quirin watched the back of his friend disappear into the growing darkness of the night, his heart heavied with another conclusion.

He had indeed moved on from a past he wasn’t very proud of, but it was his past nonetheless, and he could not simply let it go. It was a messy story where he lost his mission in a place but found his purpose in the people that had made him who he was, for better _and_ worse. Renewed with the burning desire to cherish and honor all that his brothers and sisters in arms had become because of that ancient, fallen land he once called home, Quirin vowed that he would explain it all to Varian one day.

So Quirin headed where his heart knew he belonged at this moment.

_This_ …Varian’s hope-filled eyes, glittering with awe as he stared up at his towering figure, arms outstretched to caress his stubble with his smooth palms as he lifted him into an embrace…Alda’s endearing smiles as he lay next to her, their hands intertwined and clasped together over the tiny, slumbering bundle of blankets between them…the fulfillment that welled deep within him when he saw his wife holding _their_ child at the door, tirelessly waiting for his return home after a long day of grueling labor, uncaring that he smelt like sweat and looked like he had crawled out of the earth, ready to rush to him and welcome him… _this_ was home. _This_ was his life now. _This_ was a part of him too - as much as, if not even more than, what the Brotherhood had once been.

How he wished that he wasn’t sent away, desperately scouring the world in search for something to be other than the man they had crafted to keep secrets and hide in the shadows.

But for now, this…this was everything he had been meant to become.

And everything he needed was _this_.

**Author's Note:**

> The show talks a lot about parents keeping things from their children in the hopes of protecting them, often not ready to admit to the lives they once had. But seeing some small fragments of Quirin's past life and all the wonderful things Rapunzel encounters on her journey, I couldn't help but wonder if Quirin ever reminisces about his old home, and the no doubt fantastic yet simultaneously dangerous purpose he served much of his life for. Yes, he eventually left, and spent a lot of time as a farmer in Old Corona as well (since before Rapunzel's birth for all we know). Yes, the Dark Kingdom was always in peril and is essentially dead. But just imagine...leaving all that behind!   
> It reminds me of what many parents had to give up for their family, starting a new life elsewhere for whatever reason, and it occurs to me so often that our parents once led lives of their own, lived moments that they'd never think to tell us about, and probably wish they could have done more before they had to grow up.  
> I hope that my parents think of my siblings and I the same way-I hope they think we were worth what they had to leave behind.  
> Looking at Quirin, I wonder about the many people who had to leave difficult pasts behind: Do they ever look back?


End file.
